


Manger sur le Pouce

by perhapsMama



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: F/M, He’s a slob lmao, Peter being gross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhapsMama/pseuds/perhapsMama
Summary: how to conquer writer’s block: write more fuckin stories lmao
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	Manger sur le Pouce

**Author's Note:**

> how to conquer writer’s block: write more fuckin stories lmao

The man sitting across from you has been staring at your box of pizza for a solid ten minutes now.

Upon first glance, you think he’s some homeless guy, but upon looking at his attire, you think he’s just had a few strokes of bad luck.

The back of his head is lolling against the seat, rocking every time the subway car jolted. Every so often, he’d lift his gaze toward you, then to the pizza box, almost expectantly. He’s holding a bouquet of wilted flowers in his lap and has on a rather dingy looking suit, torn at the crotch and elbows, revealing just a bit of skin beneath. 

He’s a pretty miserable sight, all things considered. 

You’re the first to speak up since he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the box steaming with the scent of garlic and cheese. 

”You want a slice, bud?” you offer, opening the lid for him to take a peek.

He lifts his head, almost a little too eagerly, and looks up at you, silently asking you permission to take a piece.

”Seems you need it more than me,” you smile, and he shrugs, taking two slices from your box.

Sandwiching the two slices together, he takes a big bite from it, letting the cheese and marinara drip onto his dress shirt.

”Got rejected by my ex,” he replies with a mouthful of dough. ”Her new boyfriend wasn’t happy about me encroaching on his territory.”

”That sucks,” you reply, not really knowing what to say to him. ”Wonder what your dry cleaners are going to think when you bring those threads in looking like that,” you joke with a smile.

”I rented it,” he finishes off the two slices, then licks the grease from the corners of his mouth and fingers.

After wiping his hand off on his muddy dress pants, he extends it toward you. ”Peter.”

You take his hand and shake it, telling him your name while internally cringing at the greasy residue he transferred from his hand to yours.

”You always give out pizza to strangers on the subway?”

”Only the depressing ones.”

He laughs, scratching the back of his with a nervous smile. ”Yeah, I bet I look like a sight to behold.”

You shrug, taking a slice from your box and eating it. ”I’ve seen worse,” you say with a mouthful of pizza. ”There was a guy wearing a bathrobe and a lampshade on his head a few stops before you.”

He scoffs amusedly, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat, letting the flowers fall to the floor with a sad, wet plop. 

”I bet they looked ten times better than me.”

”Considering the fact that I could see their junk peeking through that short bathrobe, I don’t think they were winning any beauty contests.” You inwardly shudder at the memory, choosing to gnaw on a few mozzarella sticks to take your mind off the traumatizing sight. 

”What, you’re not going to cut me in on those as well?” He pouts, and oddly enough, it makes you want to melt. 

”Go ahead, not like I can finish it.” That was partly a lie, but it was mostly just so you could continue talking to him. Peter didn’t need to know that, though.

He stands from his seat across from you and promptly sits beside you, taking two mozza sticks and dipping them into the marinara before shoving them both into his mouth.

”Mmh, man...” Once again, he sucks the crumbs and grease from his fingers, rubbing his stomach with a moan. ”Where’d you get this from? I haven’t had pizza and cheese sticks like this in _ages_. Way better than the gas station pies.”

”You seriously eat that garbage?” You raise a brow at him. From what you recall, those things were stale from being under a heat lamp for hours. Not to mention completely flavourless with the texture and taste of cardboard.

”Beggars can’t be choosers,” he gives a shrug, taking another slice from your box and shoving it into his mouth like a glutton. 

”You’re telling me,” peering into the box, you see he’s left you a few slices. Rolling your eyes, you shove the box toward him. ”Just take it. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not stuffing your face with that roach-infested, vomit-inducing trash.”

At first, he digs into the box and begins scarfing the last few slices down, but partway through his slobbish display of gluttony, he turns to you with a sheepish smile. ”Uh, I can pay you back for this? Maybe return the favour?”

You grimace, shaking your head. ”I’m fine. As far as your palate goes, I’m not too trusting of what you define as ’fine cuisine’.”

”How about coffee, then?”

”You asking me out on a date, Peter?” you tease, giving him a nudge in the side. 

”After getting dumped again by my ex, I’m pretty sure I can handle the rejection.”

”You trying to make me a rebound?” 

”Wow, that really came out wrong, didn’t it?” he flushes and turns away from you, shaking his head. ”Forget I said anything. Sorry.”

Stifling a laugh, you take out a pen from your jacket pocket and scribble your name and phone number on the corner of the pizza box. Standing up from your seat, you notice it’s your stop. Just as you’re about to leave the train, you turn to him and bid him goodbye.

The look on his face is priceless.


End file.
